


Cobblers

by Roturier



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: A coming of age story? Maybe, Gen, Sebastian's so proud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roturier/pseuds/Roturier
Summary: Every man must grow a pair. Sebastian's little master is all growed up.





	

 

It was half ten in the morning and Ciel was in a fairly tense discussion with some of his local Funtom managers, when Sebastian came bursting into the office unexpectedly, half his hair slicked straight back, the rest flying loose like a pheasant pulled backwards through a hedge. He stopped, straightened up and gulped,“My Lord!”

The young man looked up, eyed the butler’s hair and sighed; he recognized the signs. “Aunt Frances?”

The butler dropped his head, then nodded. “Aunt Frances, yes.”

“Again!? Damn it to hell, what’s flown up her bloody bustle this time?!” Ciel muttered, to the general amusement of the older men gathered around him. This annoyed the pants off the young CEO. He couldn’t be seen to be pushed around by some female relative, even if it was the formidable and notorious Marchioness Middleford.*

“Sebastian, whatever she’s up to, go stop her.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“At least until I can get there.”

“Yes, my Lord!” And off he flew.

“I’m sorry gentlemen, this will only take a moment. I beg your indulgence.” The young earl no more than pulled the door shut behind him and turned around and he was faced with the problem: the entirety of his servant body was being pulled, dragged and generally bullied into following his aunt Frances who was clearly trying to get them all out the door before Ciel saw her. Of course, with Ciel standing right there and his butler standing near at hand, it was quite clear the jig was up.

“Aunt Frances,” the young man muttered with a stern face, fists on his slender hips, muscles jumping in his jaws.

“Good morning Nephew,” the Marchioness straightened up, a carefully blank expression for her soon-to-be son-in-law. “I’ve come to do you a kindness Ciel. I’m taking your servants over to the Middleford mansion for a week or two to train them for you. It is clear they are sorely lacking in the basics their jobs require and completely clueless in the finer points of etiquette and I do not want my daughter t--”

“Let me stop you there, Aunt Frances,” Ciel said quite loudly and firmly, stepping closer. “This is entirely unacceptable. I forbid it.”

“Ciel! Is this any way to speak to the only living adult relative you--”

The young man raised his hand. “There is something of even greater import than the competency of my household staff _or_ how I treat my elder relatives and it’s a matter we need cleared up, _today_. Now I know you consider interrupting your elders to be the pinnacle of rudeness, but I doubt it’s any ruder than marching into another person’s home and arrogantly trying to commandeer the running of their household and, by implication, damning the owner and every person in it as incompetents who are incapable of managing their own business.” Ciel could tell he’d scored a point against her and felt he was on a roll. He determined he would let his anger carry him and just forget who he was talking to.

His aunt narrowed her steely eyes and crossed her arms.

“Since the wedding is drawing near, I believe it’s imperative we clear this up before I even think of bringing Lizzy into this home. So long as you are under the impression that your daughter becoming my bride gives you the right to ride roughshod over my careful arrangements, and appoint yourself the head of TWO households, **_no_** marriage will be _taking place. I WILL not HAVE it! There cannot be **two** heads of the house of Phantomhive!”_

_“I am not trying to--”_

“Shut up and listen for once in your life. Before I take my place beside Lizzy, I must be assured **_you know your place:_** I know you are an exceptionally competent person in all aspects of running a home. You also excel in many other fields. Unfortunately, you also excel in bullying people with you overwhelming presence. I can no longer indulge this boorish behavior of yours, not when you are threatening the security of _MY_ _HOUSEHOLD_. Being exceptional does not give you the right to run everyone else’s business. You need to understand and **_respect_** that I am the head of Phantomhive. If I marry Lizzy, how she conducts herself, what we do beneath this roof and who we hire as help will not be matters you will be welcome to bully, burrow or barge your way into and take charge of just because you think you can do it better. I am not averse to suggestions and offers of help, but I will not welcome you forcefully meddling in Phantomhive business!” Ciel glanced across the hall at Sebastian and was gratified to see a look of surprise and pride lighting up his handsome features and Ciel felt a sudden warm glow somewhere around his middle.

But then he got another look at Sebastian’s hair and nearly did a spit-take which would’ve ruined everything. Back to business: _serious_ business. _(pfft! That hair!)_

Ciel cleared his throat and calmed himself, then went on. “You know very well the burdens I carry as the Queen’s Watchdog; you know they are burdens I cannot share with anyone. There will be arrangements in this household you will have no knowledge or understanding of, arrangements such as why I would choose to hire a clumsy maid who is half blind, a cook who can barely fry an egg, a footman covered in poisonous snakes, a gardener who only seems to murder plants, or even a butler whose demeanor and general comportment troubles you. HOWEVER. If **_I_** arrange a thing in this house Aunt Frances, rest assured **_there is a damned good reason for it so kindly butt out._**

“I am neither indulgent, blind nor stupid. I know perfectly well what goes on in my own house. I know mine a damn sight better than **_you_** keep track of yours! Did you know your son was singing and dancing on a dancehall stage all this past month? And tell me, dearest aunt, where is Lizzy right now, exactly and what are you doing about it? I know. Do you? If you are suffering from an overwhelming urge to indulge in nest building I suggest you concentrate on your own where there is clearly room for plenty of work!

“Now: I shall be needing assurance you understand everything I’ve said to you today, because if not, you will need to keep Lizzy with you for her own safety. If you insist on sending her to me AND keep on meddling in my household and staffing arrangements, do not come crying to me when you find your daughter some morning in bed with a crushed skull, shot to pieces, kidnapped by the Ferro family or buried alive somewhere we cannot find her, or any of a hundred other possibilities I had forseen and arranged protection for, but YOU saw fit to destroy by forcefully carting off my personal body guards from their posts _without asking me_. If they aren’t here to protect me and mine because you needed to teach them how to dust baseboards or, pfft, comb their hair, then the downfall of the Queen’s Guard Dog will be on **_your shoulders_** and you can look forward to being lionized by every organized crime boss in London and on the Continent! What they could never accomplish alone they will have finally managed with your inside help!”

“Really Ciel, I don’t--”

“ _AM I NOT BEING CLEAR ENOUGH, AUNT FRANCES_?” His aunt sighed and then turned from him crossing her arms again, her eyes plainly lingering on her carriage outside.

“If so, then please leave. _Right now,_ you are interrupting some extremely tense and dangerous negotiations for such useless nonsense! Look. If you want to _call me_ and _pre-arrange_ a _visit_ to discuss your idea and _ASK_ me whether I might not _welcome_ you working with Finnian, or Snake or any one of my other servants -- _one at a time!--_ then we can discuss it WHEN THE FATE OF THE GOD DAMNED FREE WORLD AND BLOODY WAR OR PEACE is not riding on my shoulders and distracting me from whether Mey Rin’s bloody shoelaces are tied properly or not! Then we can arrange a specific date when they can be with you, and I can hire a skilled replacements who can take that servant’s place, someone who has similar talents unrelated to housekeeping, so my home and my loved ones can continue _safe_ while you’re fretting and fussing over table settings, hairstyles and flower arrangements. NOW TELL ME: AM I MAKING MYSELF CLEAR?!”

Without replying Frances turned and walked out to her carriage—without the Phantomhive servants in tow.

Sebastian watched her leave, then shook his head like a wet dog and walked off grinning, his devil-may-care appearance restored.

 

***

 

The next day, rather early, the manor received a phone call which Tanaka answered.

“One moment please, Miss Frances,” he said and quickly laid the phone down and went in search of Sebastian. The butler later reported to Ciel that a chastened Frances had requested a meeting with Ciel sometime next week --at his convenience!—to discuss her offer of training his servants to improve their household skills.

“It would appear your message was received, young master. I suggested Wednesday to your aunt since it will fit in your schedule nicely. Will that be acceptable to you? Your aunt is waiting on the line to hear your answer.”

“Tell her Wednesday will be fine. Tell her to come at one—and clarify that one p.m. means one pip emma not ten in the morning! Tell her I don’t want her harridan act overlapping with the Prime Minister’s visit.”

“I assume you wish me to convey this message, including the part about the Prime Minister but _not_ the part about her being a harridan?”

“Just tell her that’s what I said. That way it won’t be a lie.” He grinned deviously, “and yes, leave out the word harridan—unless of course you really need it.”

 

Ciel smiled into his morning tea: most satisfying.

 

\--------------

 

* I suspect the 'Midford/Middleford' thing might be one of those uniquely English pronunciation thingies which amounts to 'it's my name, I'll pronounce it any way I damn well please, thank you very much!' Thus you get place names like 'Worcestershire' pronounced 'wooster-shire' and my all-time favourite English family name 'Chalmondsey' which is pronounced 'Chumley'. So I reckon Middleford which sounds like it harkens back to some folk or town with a river fording spot, or maybe even three spots and they were the one in the middle, but 'Middleford'is probably the way it's spelled, but they pronounce it 'Midford'.

Because, you know, they can.

 

 


End file.
